Life On The Rim
by ATTF
Summary: "Of all the planets. Of all the lush, beautiful worlds we could've crashed on, our ship bloody broke down over this hell-hole of a world. Somethin' or someone's out to get, I say. Well, least I ain't alone, got two fellers down 'ere with me, I bloody damn hope we can get through this..." -Excerpt from an unknown dead Rimworlder, date recorded - 6 Aprimay 5500


"... Yes... No, we don't have that here... Alright, just to confirm things, you want five plasteel maces, one set of grenades, and two hundred and eighty five pieces of Thrumbofur?"

A garbled word of affirmation came through the old and rusty earpiece a short while after. "Very well, expect the caravan to arrive in around... Five days. Yep, no problem. This is Carla from Rorke's Lagoon, out."

Slowly setting down the earpiece on the comm station, Carla grabbed the clipboard and gave the order another once-over. Her reviewing was interrupted by a voice from the corner of the small wooden cabin. "Another order? We just did one a week ago!"

Sighing, Carla turned in her chair to face the colonist behind her. "I'm sorry," The girl's face did not seem to change at Carla's apology. "But we're low on silver and we just killed a couple of Thrumbos. Edward's down with the plague as well, so our primary source of cash just gone dry."

Adjusting the gun on her back, the girl's face twisted into an unhappy scowl as she crossed her arms. "Yeah, well ya better get someone on it, Car. Someone not _me_ , to be specific. I'm tired of runnin' around with those stinkin' muffaloes through the bloody winter!" To accent her point, she waved towards the solitary window in the room, presenting the outside view of a roaring blizzard.

"Hey, we saved you from that pack of tribals back then," Carla pointed out, jabbing a finger in the girl's direction. "If it weren't for us, you'd probably be sold off as a slave or something. Be grateful."

Seeing the girl about to fire back a retort, Carla gave her a deathly glare. As it always had, it shut her up quickly. "Good. Now get back to your patrol, Alice. And here," She tossed the clipboard, which Alice caught rather clumsily. "Give that to Skye. He's probably in the workshop."

Alice shot her a venomous stare before slamming the door to the cabin. The words 'Bloody Glitterworlders' were heard before the rest of the sentence was carried away by the unrelenting blizzard. Carla sat there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back towards the comm station. Outwardly, she appeared calm and focused. Inwardly though, her mind is slightly more turbulent.

 _"Again. I've done it again. I lost my temper."_ Her hand hovered over the frequency dial on the console. She let out a tired breath as she slumped back in her chair. _"I was the president of the Public Speaking Club back on Tempus II, but being the overseer of a mish-mashed group of colonists..."_

Deciding not to continue down that train of thought, Carla, de-facto overseer of Rorke's Lagoon, shakily stood up from her chair and went over to the crudely-carved oak cabinet to her left. The hinges creaked loudly as her eyes were greeted by five bottles of unmarked glass bottles.

"Well." Muttering to herself, Carla twisted the wooden cork on the bottle, releasing it from the tight grasp of the roughly made bottle, a distinct and old smell wafted to her noses. "There's always beer."

And so, with a bottle of homebrew beer in hand, Carla pulled up a chair by the window and grabbed an exquisite cup from her desk. Listening to the sounds of the roaring blizzard outside separated by a rush-fully constructed wooden wall, as the alcoholic drink poured down her throat.

Out there, somewhere on this planet.

There's a child crying helplessly as he watched his parents slaughtered by desperate raiders, crimson red blood spewing into the air as the blades cut them apart.

There's a young boy, barely of adult age, struggling to come to grips with having gotten blood on his hands, having claimed his first kill.

There's a woman grieving over the loss of her fiance, someone who was to be her husband, as the colony slowly lowered the casket.

There's people that need help, as the hot desert climate claimed their crops one plot at a time.

But Carla wouldn't care about them. She _couldn't_. Right now, the only thing she cares about is the colony.

 _Her_ colony.

And damn it all to Hell if she can't pull this lot through.

Such is life on the Rim.

 **A/N: Yep, I'm back to writing. Just this time, not about Team fortress 2, or RWBY. Its Rimworld baby! That game sucked out so much time that I sometimes don't have time to play TF2 just so I could manage my colonists :p This Rimworld run is unmodded, so don't expect any MegaFauna dinos to appear. This is an anthology as well, meaning not all chapters are in chronological order. Also, seriously don't expect regular updates on this. They'll probably be sporadic as heck.**

 **Rimworld is owned by Ludeon Studios, I simply own what effort I put into writing this. Support them!**

 **Also, this was originally published on Wattpad by me, but I decided to upload this here as well, and will be updating both as I go.**


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